Page 18 of Last Night with the Duke
“Napoleon was with me.”
“Oh,” Esmeralda said on an exasperated sigh. “You know Napoleon is not a chaperone.”
“He is better than a chaperone,” Josephine contended, throwing her arms down beside her. “He’s my friend and a guard dog. He wouldn’t let anything happen to me.”
“You know I’ve told you before that it’s not just the danger of walking the streets alone,” Esmeralda insisted, knowing that while it wasn’t the best address in the busy shopping area, they were in a well-respected section of Town that was fairly safe from footpads and mischief-makers. Otherwise, she’d have never agreed to lease the agency from Mr. Fortescue. Taking the man up on his offer to keep the agency open had not only given them a means of support, but a safe home as well.
“How many times do I have to tell you it’s not proper for a young lady to be out without a companion?”
“I’m not a lady,” Josephine countered petulantly. “I’m a girl.”
“Whowillbe a proper young lady one day, and we can’t have your character tainted any more than—” Esmeralda caught herself and stopped just in time. She was about to say “any more than it already was.”
Josephine was the granddaughter of a viscount, but also the daughter of a penniless Irish poet. Esmeralda didn’t think Josephine understood the ramifications of that yet, and Esmeralda wasn’t ready to have that discussion with her.
“Nobody pays any attention to me anyway.” Her arms snapped back up to cross over her chest again in a contrary stance.
“You don’t know that. How long have you been sneaking out of the house in the afternoons?”
Josephine pursed her lips for a moment or two, then said, “Not long. Only a few times and just since the weather turned warmer so Napoleon’s paws wouldn’t freeze.”
“All right,” Esmeralda said, thankful her sister hadn’t been slipping out all winter. “But you must not do this again. On this I will be firm and have your promise.”
The seconds ticked by, Josephine’s gaze staying on Esmeralda’s. As if sensing what was going on between the two sisters, Napoleon wandered over to stand beside Josephine. She lowered her arm and bent down to pat him on the head.
“We can stand here all night if you wish, but I will have your promise before either of us leaves this room for the night,” Esmeralda said, using the firm tone she would use with an unruly five-year-old.
“All right. I promise. But I don’t like it.”
“You don’t have to.” Esmeralda wasn’t happy about having to force Josephine to give the promise either, and quietly added, “Thank you,” hoping that would be the end of the uncomfortable conversation.
“We get tired of staying inside, waiting all day for you to come up and go outside with us.”
“If that’s the case, perhaps I’m not giving you enough needlework to do.”
“Needlework is for old ladies who have nothing else to do, Essie, and you know it,” she countered.
“Very well. Since you don’t like working with a needle and thread, then we will concentrate more on your sums, reading, and poetry.”
“I hate poetry too, and you know that. I only write it to make you happy.”
That wasn’t the first time Josephine had said she hated poetry, and Esmeralda wondered if it was in some way a retaliation against Josephine’s father for dying and leaving her. Myles Graham had written many poems for his daughter. She’d always seemed happiest when sitting on her father’s lap, listening to him read his latest poem. But there was no way of knowing, because Josephine refused to discuss her father. It was as if she believed that if she didn’t have to think about him, she wouldn’t miss him. At least it was only the poetry she said she hated and not Esmeralda.
“I can be flexible on this as well,” she said, trying to find some way to let Josephine know she wasn’t trying to be difficult. “You can do more of whichever task it is that you enjoy the most.”
“Walking outside,” she shot back quickly as Napoleon wandered over by the cold fireplace and laid down.
Esmeralda wrapped her shawl tighter about her chest. They hadn’t had a fire in more than a week because there was no coal or wood because there was no money. There was oil in the lamp, so she walked over to the table and turned up the flame. It may be cold but it didn’t have to be dark and dreary too.
She wished Josephine could have all the proper things the granddaughter of a viscount should have—a large, warm home to grow up in, servants to wait on her, lessons on the pianoforte, someone better in French than Esmeralda to teach her the language—but none of those things were within Esmeralda’s power to give unless she wanted to swallow her pride and ask her cousin for help. And she and Josephine hadn’t been that cold and hungry yet.
The dashing Duke of Griffin crossed her mind, and her stomach fluttered deliciously. Those romantic feelings were such nonsense, yet she didn’t know how to stop them. And in truth, she didn’t want to. They were a welcome reprieve from her worries.
Maybe it would do her and Josephine good to get away to the duke’s house for a few weeks. It had been a cold winter and she didn’t blame her sister for wanting to spend more time outside. Esmeralda would love that too. But if she had been out with Josephine and Napoleon this afternoon, she would have missed His Grace and other potential clients who came to her agency for help securing employees for their households.
“Since we don’t have to take Napoleon out, I’m going to make your tea,” Josephine mumbled and turned away.
“Wait,” Esmeralda said. “We’ll have a cup in a few minutes. I have something to tell you.”
